Manifold Aria
by Copper Tragic
Summary: When Celebrían is taken captive by the Orcs, Elladan, Elrohir, and Elrond set out to find her, leaving Arwen in Imladris. As the hunt ensues, each has his own story to remember. Characters: Elladan, Elrohir, Elrond, Celebrian, Arwen (full summary inside)
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Title: Manifold Aria  
  
Summary: When Lady Celebrían is taken captive by the Orcs, Elladan, Elrohir, and Elrond set out to find her, leaving Arwen guilt-ridden in Imladris. As the hunt ensues, each has his own story to remember; a mother's absence, a childhood struggle, a time in captivity, and happier times. Main characters: Arwen, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Celebrían.  
  
Author's Note: As I have been able to find minimal information on certain topics, namely the childhood of Elrond and his courtship of Celebrían, when these subjects are mentioned I will be largely inventing things. If you don't like that, I suggest you not read on. You have fair warning, so please no flames.  
  
*****  
  
"My lord?" Glorfindel asked nervously. It was unusual for the warrior to feel nervous about anything. This was not just anything. The Lady Celebrían of Imladris had left, weeks before, to visit her mother in the woods of Lothlorien. Word had only just reached Imladris that Lady Celebrían did not arrive in Lothlorien. The Orcs found her first.  
  
Lord Elrond stood by the window, gazing out at the twins, Elladan and Elrohir. Elladan sat on a stone bench, playing gently with his brother's hair. Elrohir sat on the ground, leaning against Elladan, his head resting lightly in his brother's lap. They spoke quietly; Lord Elrond could not make out their words, by hearing or by the motions of their lips. How was it that, although they had grown and were by Elven standards adults now, Lord Elrond saw them still as children? There were similarities, of course: as they had as children, the boys voiced one opinion, spoke as "we" instead of as "I", and still sat them same way on garden benches. Elladan still favored a low guard when fencing; Elrohir still kissed his first arrow for luck.  
  
"Elrond," Glorfindel said quietly, touching his friend's shoulder. "You must act."  
  
"Yes. Of course I must," Lord Elrond replied, swallowing hard. He wished to close his eyes, just for a moment, and allow himself to slip back to better times. But he could not do this, for Celebrían depended on him, and so did her children: the twins, in their serenity, and Arwen. Arwen. . . "Glorfindel, what of Arwen?"  
  
"It is she that brought us this news. She managed an escape, hardly scathed, and lies now in the Halls of Healing."  
  
Lord Elrond nodded at this, accepting it. Though it was pleasing news he did not smile. Sorrow overshadowed any possible joy. Celebrían was the love of his life; his heart belonged to her. With swift, assured movements Elrond strode to the door of his study and said, "I am going to take my wife back from those creatures."  
  
"My lord, you have three children to see to first," Glorfindel replied. He did not mention Imladris: being Elrond's chief advisor, Glorfindel was always in charge of Imladris in the absence of Elrond himself. The children, however, were not as easily passed about.  
  
Elrond paused for a moment. He had not intended to tell the boys. They would wish to accompany him, would refuse to stay in Imladris. It was better that no one spoke to them of what had happened; that way they could not try to leave and put themselves in the way of danger. Arwen would understand, of course, why he had to leave her alone: she had always been somewhat comforted by the presence of her parents.  
  
"At least speak to them."  
  
"No," Elrond said with a shake of his head. "It is better this way. They need not know."  
  
Glorfindel considered this. It was unjust, and he knew it, and Elrond knew it. There was no point in saying out loud things that were mutually known already. Elrond may have been the Lord of Imladris, but, in the opinion of Glorfindel, this did not give him the right to treat his children in such a manner. They should know. "Peredhil," said Glorfindel in a voice that proclaimed him high in both might and honour, "you may be Lord of Imladris, and my superior thusly. But I was known to your father ere you came into this world, and knew you ere you knew even your own name. By you or by me, they will know of their mother's fate."  
  
Elrond meditated on this for a long moment. Glorfindel meant what he had said. Could he spare those moments in speaking to his children? Slowly Elrond nodded. "I will speak to them, Glorfindel. It would be best that they hear this from me."  
  
Glorfindel clapped his friend on the shoulder and told him he was a good man, and that he had known all along that he would make the right choice, then said, "I will make your preparations for this journey while you are with the young ones. Valar be with you."  
  
*****  
  
Arwen Evenstar, renowned as the most beautiful woman in all Middle- earth, hung her head. Waves of ebony locks fell forward, shading her from accusing eyes, catching on the points of her ears and hanging back. "Oh, I deserve it!" she cried, pulling back her hair and throwing up her head. "Let the world see me for what I am!"  
  
Guilt plagued the young woman. Since her return to Imladris, she had done what little she could. 'Unscathed' was a relative term. Arwen had suffered a slash from an Orc scimitar, opening a substantial portion of her lower arm. She and her mother were attacked by Orcs on their journey to Lothlorien, the land of her mother's kin. Though both women carried weapons, they were vastly outnumbered. In the heat of battle, when Celebrían turned to her daughter and, in Elvish, shouted, "Go!" Arwen could think of nothing. She acted.  
  
That image of her mother was forever in front of her. Whenever Arwen closed her eyes, there was Celebrían, surrounded and swamped by her attackers, fighting bravely but it was a fight of folly, for the Orcs were closing on her already. Blood flowed slowly from a cut on her forehead. In the midst of her panic she was calm, and thought of her daughter; of saving her daughter if not herself. . .  
  
"Mama!" Arwen wailed, curling into a ball again. The cut on her arm had been poisoned, and it was only by luck that Arwen reached her home alive. The healers--though not her father--had tended her wound. Though she would live, would heal in full with hardly a scar to show, she would not be fully active for a few days yet, at least. In the mean time, there were plenty of things she could do. Embroidery, for example. Why was she known for embroidery? If only Arwen had made herself known for her skills with a blade--!  
  
The healers had long since decided to ignore Arwen. When she began to have her crying fits, there was nothing anyone could do to help her. Peace was what she craved, what she could not have, for her mind secluded her and tormented her. She would die, she thought, by her own hand, but the Valar had fixed their minds against such action. "Arwen?"  
  
She looked up, rubbing her eyes with her wrists. "Ada?" she asked. Her hysterics had subsided, but her tears still slipped from her eyes, running down her cheeks. "Ada, I--I did everything I could, I swear I--"  
  
"Shh, hush, Arwen," Elrond said, holding her as he had not in centuries. For many minutes Elrond was not the lord of Imladris, but simply the father of his daughter, and as such he rocked her gently as she clung to him, until she was calmed completely. "Now, you are all right?" he asked, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Not injured or upset any longer?"  
  
"No," Arwen replied with a small smile.  
  
"Then, Arwen, I will tell you what I must and be gone: I am going to be away for a while, finding your mother. I am going to bring her home."  
  
Arwen nodded, thinking this over. "Namaarie."  
  
[1]"Tenna' ento lye omenta," Elrond replied.  
  
"Ada?"  
  
"Yes, Arwen?"  
  
She reached out and took her father's hand before he could leave, and said, "The Orcs? Kill every last one of them."  
  
"Oh, child," Elrond said, in a voice such that Arwen feared he would lecture her on the merits of peace, "I will."  
  
*****  
  
[2]"An Elven maid there was of old,  
  
A shining star by day:  
  
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,  
  
Her shoes of silver-grey,"  
  
Elrohir sang gently, watching as though he could see his very words floating to the wind. Elladan's quiet braiding of his twin's hair had not gone unnoticed, rather unmentioned: it was fine by Elrohir, for he was in quite a pleasant mood that day. It had been a lazy day, the hours of weapons practice gone in the blink of an eye, and the twins had retreated to the gardens to spent the rest of their day in peace and song. Something had made Elrohir stop, an ill feeling. . .but it was gone. "Elrohir?" Elladan asked.  
  
"A star was bound upon her brows,  
  
A light was on her hair  
  
As sun upon the golden boughs  
  
In Lórien the fair.  
  
"Her hair was long, her limbs were white,  
  
And fair she was and free;  
  
And in the wind she went as light  
  
As leaf of linden-tree.  
  
"Beside the falls of Nimrodel,  
  
By water clear and cool,  
  
Her voice as falling silver fell  
  
Into the shining pool.  
  
"Where now she wanders none can tell,  
  
In sunlight or shade;  
  
Or lost of yore was Nimrodel  
  
Ands in the mountains strayed."  
  
Now Lord Elrond had come to his sons in the gardens, and stood beside them, his hand on Elladan's shoulder, but was without word. Elrohir knew of his father's presence, but he sang, anyway. Let the Elven lord spoil his own fun, but Elrohir intended to enjoy the remnants of the song. Instead of stopping his singing, as he knew his father would bid him, Elrohir only sang louder.  
  
"The elven-ship in haven grey  
  
Beneath the--"  
  
"Elrohir," Lord Elrond said, interrupting. Elrohir looked up at his father, and disobediently added, "mountain-lee. . ."  
  
"Elrohir, please."  
  
At this Elrohir did stop, and both boys looked in alarm to their father. Never had they heard his voice so strained. What was wrong? Elrohir raised one hand furtively, and Elladan clasped it.  
  
"Your mother. . .your mother is a captive of the Orcs," Elrond said, as briefly as possible. The boys could not speak. They held tightly to each other, afraid, in part, and disbelieving. "I am going after her--"  
  
"We are coming with you," Elladan interrupted, jumping to his feet. Elrohir's head was displaced then, and he too stood, without word and yet saying as much as his brother. Elrond looked from one identical face the next, their expressions set, shoulders squared, chins raised in slight loyalty and defiance. "We are going with you," Elladan repeated. Elrond knew that he meant this as much as had Glorfindel, and suddenly tears threatened him with the sudden understanding that his boys were no more his.  
  
"Very well."  
  
*****  
  
1. Tenna' ento lye omenta; Until next we meet  
  
The Lay of Nimrodel, as recounted by Legolas; The Fellowship of the Ring, page 381  
  
TBC, and feedback would be appreciated!! 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Author's note: When the story says "man" it means male; "Man" means human.  
  
Agent Daidouji: Well, then, it's a good thing this one came along! Don't worry, this one may take a while but I aim to finish it.  
  
Stearchica: Thanks. They were supposed to act more like on entity than like two, knowing each other's movements and simply accepting them.  
  
*****  
  
Lady Celebrían could feel her dress tear, and she was almost glad. All that remained of it was drenched with her blood and sweat, and rubbed uncomfortably against her skin. Less than a second after the tear of fabric came a far more painful tearing; that of the Lady's flesh. She felt her muscles spasm, her back afire with pain, thick blood oozing over her skin. She felt the leather whip removed from her back, and heard the cruel laughter of the Orcs about her, but kept her eyes shut tightly.  
  
As the whip fell again with a deafening crack, it was all Lady Celebrían could do to keep from screaming. She let her mind go. . .  
  
~* Sunlight pours, hardly filtered, through the leaves, to the ground of fair Lothlorien forest. Illuminated, shining particles dance lazily ground- ward, encountering nearer the forest floor softly rising notes of a very pretty song, sung by a very pretty young woman. Her blonde locks caress her round face; cherry lips and creamy skin. She leans against the tree trunk, sitting on the leaf-covered earth, a bit of white cloth in one hand, thread and a needle in the other. As she embroiders a red rose on the cloth she sings her song, the notes loosing themselves from her mouth and taking lives of their own. Though she is fully grown, she appears to have the innocence of a child, and certainly the euphoria of one.  
  
A raven-haired, grey-eyed man approaches the woman on horseback, but he is quiet, not wanting to break her song. He sees of her only raiment of white and a curtain of winding flaxen hair; her hands at work. By her posture he knows her legs are tucked beneath her. He stops, entranced, very much hoping that she will finish her song before noticing him, as she obviously has not yet. At one line, something about the bluebird, she turns her face skyward, and looks, as though to the heavens for an answer. She seems to recall her song, turns her face back to her work and continues her song.  
  
After many minutes, the man begins to feel that he is trespassing somewhere forbidden to him, and on something quite private. Though the woman sings on, remaining oblivious, the man forces himself to interrupt her, clearing his throat and saying, "Excuse me--"  
  
She turns to face him, and for the first time he sees her fully. They gasp, she because she thinks he must have been waiting and, so absorbed in her own world, she did not hear him; he, because she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. "Oh, dear," she says, as he is still without words, gathering her things into a small bag and standing, brushing the dirt and leaves from her skirts. "I am sorry, I have been terribly rude, but I did not hear you. . .you wished something of me?"  
  
"Yes," he breathes. "I--I--" He shakes his head, hard, and says, "Excuse me, but I am looking for the Lady Galadriel, do you know her?"  
  
"I do," replies the young woman. "Do you seek her? Come, follow me and I will take you to her." Celebrían takes the reins of the young man's horse and leads the two of them--horse and rider--to the stables, where she hands off the reins to a stablehand and tells the rider, "We must go on foot from here." She offers him her hand, and can hardly help but notices that he shakes at her touch. "Are you cold, lord?" she asks.  
  
"No, lady," he says, not daring to say more, for already he knows that he is in love with this woman, that none shall measure up to her in his eyes. He dares not say more, for fear that these truths find his tongue. He does not want her to laugh at him, for he fears her rejection would break his heart. *~  
  
*****  
  
Elrond glanced up at the sun approaching the horizon. The hours seemed to be slipping like sand through his fingers, and with them his beloved Celebrían. The glare burned him, and he closed his eyes, only to see her face in front of him. He wondered if Celebrían was still alive, then quickly banished that thought, deciding that she was. If it was the very least he could do for her, he would be by her side as she went, holding her hand and comforting her.  
  
~* "Elwing, there is no need for this!"  
  
Elrond shivers terribly at the voice. He can see neither the speaker nor his mother. Is she all right? Have they hurt her? He wants to protect her, but knows that he cannot, that he is only a child, small and hardly able to wield a sword against his brother, let alone against these sons of Feanor. He hides his face in his hands, ashamed and afraid, for he can do nothing from the latter bringing upon him the former. Cold stone meets the body of the boy, and he hazards a glance upwards.  
  
The crates and bags behind which the boys hide are still just as Elrond remembered them, hiding the two from the attackers, and from the view of their mother. She threw them back there when she heard the knocking at the door. "Watch out for your brother, my son," she said to them both, kissing their brows before hiding them safely behind the crates. At first they both saw what they could; their mother, Elwing, a beauty of Elves, raven hair swept by wind and worry against her white dress. But she shifted, and all they could see was her feet, and then with a great noise the door burst, and Elrond cried out, but Elros clamped a hand over his mouth.  
  
"Mama!" Elrond cried through Elros's hand.  
  
"Be quiet!" Elros hissed, harsh and low. "Do not disgrace mother by revealing us both, do you understand?" Elrond could only nod, and Elros drew his hand away, gently positioned his brother against the wall, and returned to the crates to watch.  
  
Now, as Elrond looks up, he sees only crates, bags, and his brother's back. Elros has his hair tied back in one tail, and his hands hold tightly to the crates. He does not shake as Elrond does, but his knuckles are white. Is he afraid, Elrond wonders, or is his angry? He looks furious, ready to jump out and kill those men who assail his mother, but as her wishes will not allow this Elros stays himself. Elrond knows now that he must make a decision. Will he watch, and see what happens, know for sure, or will he condemn himself to an attempted ignorance while he cannot shut out the sounds? His heart pounds against his ribs, and with a small gasp he crawls over, kneeling beside Elros.  
  
There are two of them. Elwing stands on the windowsill, looking out at the sea. She turns her face back, and it is streaked with tears. Elros and Elrond cannot see the faces of the men, but their backs; heavy boots, rough tunics and breeches, one with his chestnut hair bouncing in thick locks just below his shoulders, the other with his hair plaited, running down to the small of his back. They both hold swords. "Elwing, just come back into the chamber and give us the Silmaril. No jewel is worth your life. We promise you freedom, and your family--"  
  
"My family? Speak not of them, for you are their murderers! What of Eluréd and Elurín, my brothers, and my parents Dior and Nimloth? You killed them without a second thought, I know it for I saw it happen! You will not take me the same way. I have no family left." And then she challenges them, "Barter with me now, you keepers of nothing."  
  
Tears are streaming down Elrond's cheeks, though he is silent. Has his mother given him and Elros up, truly? Elros knows his brother is crying, and without a sound puts one arm around Elrond's shoulders, pulling him closer to him. Elrond buries his face in Elros's tunic, and Elros, defiantly courageous, shifts Elrond so that he may watch. He sees what Elrond does not, what he will later speak of only because his brother asks it of him: he sees the men advance, and he sees Elwing his mother hold the Silmaril to her breast, turn back to the sea, and leap out into the openness. Elros sees his mother's skirts flutter about her legs, her hair fly upwards as her body falls down, and he nearly, just nearly cries out, but bites his lip. As the men scream he dares a quiet moan.  
  
"Elros, what--" Elrond begins to ask, but Elros presses a hand to his brother's mouth. Curious, Elrond dares a peek at the window. He sees the sea, and he sees a white bird flying over it, glimmering, and nothing more. Where is Mama, he wonders, but dares not ask. Neither of the brothers risk another glance out from their hiding place; instead they hold each other and keep each other quiet, waiting. After what seems like hours, Elros motions for silence and ventures a look through a slit in the crates. It is no use. He searches for another opening and causes only the tiniest noise.  
  
There are heavy footfalls and a face appears, briefly, above the twins, then is gone. "Maglor!" calls the face, Meadhros. "Maglor, you had better come and see this."  
  
"What is it, Meadhros?"  
  
"Look. It is the sons of Elwing." *~  
  
*****  
  
"Arwen? Are you all right?"  
  
She looked up to see Glorfindel standing over her shoulder, looking worried. It was very late, and Arwen had not left the hearth for many hours. Her cheeks were bright red and boiling to the touch. She had neither eaten nor had anything to drink in quite a long while. It took all her will to nod, and say, "I am all right, Glorfindel, thank you."  
  
"I do not think you are, if I may say so," he replied, taking a seat beside her. "What are you thinking about?"  
  
"About my mother," Arwen said in a hollow voice, "and the first time I was without her."  
  
~* Arwen jumps from branch to branch, trailing her friend Jorion, chasing after him. She giggles as he manages to stay always just out of her reach. As they come upon their homes, Arwen sees Celebrían mount her horse. "Mother!" she cries, jumping down from her high perch and leaving Jorion on his own. She rolls a bit, picking herself up and running to her mother. "Are you going riding? Where are you going? May I go with you?" she demands, firing off one question as soon as the last is out of her mouth.  
  
"Slow down, Arwen," Celebrían says, amused. She lifts Arwen into her lap for a moment. "No, you cannot come, I am going to visit my mother in Lothlorien and you are much too small for the journey. We shall see each other again when I return, and it will not be long, I promise. Ada and I told you about this, remember, two weeks ago?"  
  
Arwen thinks back. She does remember, vaguely, her mother and father saying something to her at supper one evening, but she only replied as she thought was fit; she was not truly listening to them. Now she wishes she had been; she throws her arms around her mother and cries out, "Please, Mother, don't go, I promise to be very, very good if you stay!"  
  
"Arwen!" Celebrían exclaims. "I am coming back, child, I will only be gone for two months!"  
  
"That's practically for ever, please let me go with you, or better, you could stay here!"  
  
"Please, Arwen, I must go to my mother, but I cannot go if I know you are in such a state. Will you be all right here?"  
  
Arwen understands, on some level, that her mother has to go, and that she is being inconvenient in holding her up. It is not a neglectful sort of thing that Celebrían does, but she cannot be expected to remain in Imladris all her life with her parents else, and it has been many years since she last saw the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood. "Yes, Mother," Arwen promises, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve.  
  
"Good. Fare well, then." Celebrían hugs her daughter fiercely.  
  
"Namaarie, Mother," Arwen says, returning the hug. When Celebrían draws back, she sets Arwen on the ground with one final kiss, and is off.  
  
Elladan and Elrohir pull Arwen off Jorion ten minutes later, as she tries to beat him up, fists flying. "I only tried to be nice," he says, straightening his tunic. "I only meant well, see if I ever speak to you again!" And he strides off.  
  
"What happened, Arwen?" Elladan asked.  
  
She turned slowly to face him, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and shouted, "I want my mother!" *~  
  
*****  
  
TBC 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
Author's Note: I am aware of the fact that Elrond and Elros were twins. When Elros calls Elrond "little brother", it is because Elrond is smaller in stature than him. In the years of an Elf, thirty is about twelve mortal years. Celebrían calls Elrond "Peredhil-nin", "-nin" being possessive; that' her pet name for him. (dumb, yes, but I couldn't think of anything else)  
  
Dragon: Could you note specifically what you dislike about it?  
  
And thanks to all my reviewers, I love hearing from you all!  
  
*****  
  
The sun rose. It was a slow process, and as that brightly orb sailed to its place atop the horizon many minutes past, and such was the distortion of it that for a while the globe itself seemed a cauldron, more, until at last it was fully visible and was, quite clearly, the sun. A blanket of light was thrown over the land, removing the distortion from objects made by the darkness into monsters and adding a moving clarity to the mixture of emotions so clearly on the face of his twin. Elladan could see Elrohir's thoughts, and knew that, as in all times of troubles, his feelings had turned to simplicity. Anger and fear showed plainly in Elrohir's expression, but amplified, made to rage and terror. Elladan could not help but wonder if he was feeling such emotions himself, and so turned within himself to find an answer.  
  
It had been three days since they left Imladris, and not once had the three riders halted. Elrond, for his part, seemed to survive solely on his anger and his thirst for vengeance grew ever stronger. The twins were not so unnaturally strong, and by helping each other along they managed to eat their meals and rest while riding. How the poor horses were still puttering along was completely beyond them. Elrohir had been riding just after his father, but after one quick glance dropped back beside his brother. "Are you remembering it, too, Elladan?"  
  
~* "You two stay here."  
  
Elladan and Elrohir are not supposed to be outside of Imladris. They are yet young at only thirty years. But when they heard that their father had gone off to hunt Orcs with a small fellowship of Elves, they had followed, seeking adventure and tired of being treated like children. It had not taken them long to catch up to the elder Elves, and for enough time they had gone unnoticed that, when they were found, the twins could not be sent back home--there was no one the fellowship could stand to lose, and the boys did not intend to return of their own free will, nor would they be allowed to. The fact that they found the others unscathed was miraculous, the area was so thick with Orcs.  
  
"But Ada--" Elladan protests.  
  
"No buts, Elladan," Elrond cuts him off. "Stay here!" With those parting words he is gone, leaving the twins on their own. The fellowship has encountered a band of Orcs, and Elrond has hidden his sons to keep them safe as best he can. If the worst should happen, they have their swords with them.  
  
It had been Elladan that wanted to go after the party and Elladan that convinced his brother to go along. The entire time Elrohir had been dubious, saying often that they should turn back. But Elladan had kept on going, and so Elrohir had followed, although far less certain in his conviction. Now he is certain--and believes he should have stayed at home, safe. Elladan does not even think of safety. He is still having an adventure. "I dislike this hiding," Elladan says.  
  
"Elladan," Elrohir moans. "Please, please do not mean what I think you mean!"  
  
"I do mean it," Elladan replies, a fire to his voice. "Come on, Elrohir, let us go and kill some of those nasty brutes!" To accompany his brave words, Elladan draws his sword from its scabbard and rushes towards the fight. Elrohir notes that his brother is slashing at the Orcs from behind, and though he fells many it is in the manner of a coward. From his hiding spot Elrohir watches his brother swing his sword to the neck of one Orc and miss only when another of the beasts grabs him from behind. All this time Elrohir has watched, shaking, torn between his father's command and his brother's safety. Now the decision is made for him.  
  
"Elladan!" Elrohir cries in dismay as his brother struggles in the hands of an Orc. He leaps from his hiding spot now, rushing to aid his brother. "Let him go!" the younger twin cries. At the sound of his voice Elrond turns and sees what is happening, and struggles against the Orcs with a new fervor, fighting to reach his sons. Elrohir comes to his brother first, and quickly disarms Elladan's captor. Without a word, an unspoken thanks passing between them, Elladan turns so that he and his brother are back-to-back. In this manner the Orcs will have even more trouble in reaching them.  
  
As Elrohir raises his blade to parry one blow, another rains down, opening a gash in his arm. Elrohir cannot help but scream in pain as fire lashes through the appendage. Was the blade poisoned, or has it cut a muscle? He wonders. Elladan whips around. "Elrohir!" He rushes to the aid of his brother, returning the blow to the offending Orc, but as he does so he creates for them a weakness, and in moments only the Orcs have grabbed them both. The twins contest their captors, but in vain. The Orcs are retreating now. Just as a half-formed thought in Elladan's head begins to wonder why, he feels a blunt pain and his world fades to black. *~  
  
*****  
  
Celebrían shivered with pain as she was thrown harshly against the cell wall, and slipped down to the floor, where she remained, motionless. From this position she watched the Orcs leave her small pen, and wondered if they meant to prolong her suffering. 'Perhaps they know not of death by broken heart,' she thought. 'Perhaps I will die soon, and I will not need to feel this pain. . .'  
  
As she thought over these postulates her mind seemed to clear, and she felt herself slipping away even as she considered this fate. For a few glorious moments, she felt release, and not pain nor suffering, and peace was so real to her. Only the memory of better times, of those who had cared for her and her fate, kept her from closing her eyes to revel in the one sleep Elves ever enjoy with eyes closed.  
  
~* Celebrían is exhausted and frazzled. Damp, blond locks stick to her head with sweat, framing a cherry-red face lined with concentration as she works. It seems hours have passed since she started this toil, though it was more likely less than an hour. Even so, she is tired, and works on through it, straining herself for all she is worth.  
  
The sound of crying reaches her ears, and she laughs. It is not for any particular reason that she laughs, but all at once a great pain is removed from her, and this musical noise brings her so much delight. . ."My lady," says the midwife. "My lady, there is another, it is not yet over. I am sorry." Celebrían's heart sinks, and again she begins to push again. The child refuses to come, and though she is pushing with all her might Celebrían knows she is not getting anywhere.  
  
And she screams. With all her heart and soul Celebrían screams, channeling into that scream her pain and her effort. The note fills the room and spills into the hall, and all of Imladris can hear its Lady cry out in agony. And when the cry stops, another begins, a high-pitched wail starting out low, then growing louder, breaking for a sob and then again becoming a wail. The child is shushed, and his crying stops, dying down to a low gurgle. Celebrían flops back onto the pillows with weariness.  
  
"Celebrían!" a worried voice exclaims, and she feels herself drawn into an embrace. "Celebrían, I was so frightened I had lost you!" Elrond holds his wife gently as his tears wet her face. He can not help but cry. Her scream, it had been so awesome, so filled with pain, that he could not help but believe that his children had come in to the world at the great price of his cherished wife. . .  
  
Celebrían reaches up and strokes his face. "Peredhil-nin," she whispers, "but I am here." She raises her head and kisses him tenderly, then whispers, "Now go to your children, and allow me to have some rest."  
  
"Of course," Elrond replies, but it is with immense misgivings that he takes his hands from his wife's body and turns away from her, and although he knows it is simply silliness he almost fears that without his eyes upon her she will disappear for ever. Celebrían smiles as she drifts into dreams. A contentment carries her, for she knows that she has had so much love given to her, and thusly has so much love to give. Despite the fatigue of her labor, Lady Celebrían feels in her heart and soul that she has eminently much love in a darkening world, and can scarcely wait to bestow that love upon the two tiny boys whom she has just brought in to this world. *~  
  
*****  
  
Elrond looked back at his boys, and suddenly for the first time realized he was pushing them too hard. His heart did not soften so that he would slow the pace. Much as he loved his sons, Celebrían was in grave danger with every second she spent in the hands of those foul creatures. But the boys. . .Elrond could hardly help but think of them as children. Remembering his own childhood, he had always wanted the boys to be happy. . .  
  
~* "E-Elros? Where are we? I can not see anything!" Elrond exclaims, his eyes opening groggily, telling him that he had not been asleep, but unconscious.  
  
"Shh," Elros says, gathering his little brother in his arms. Though the same in years, Elrond has always been somewhat smaller than Elros, and more lithe. "Listen to me, little one, this is very important. Are you listening?"  
  
"Yes," Elrond says in a very small voice.  
  
"I am glad you were not awake for it, little one. We are in the keep of Meadhros at the moment. We are living at his mercy," Elros explains, not trying to soften the blow of this at all.  
  
Elrond's eyes are adjusting, and he can tell through the dim light that he and his brother are being kept in a very small place, in a holding cell not unlike a cage. There are metal bars around them on two sides and stone walls on the other two sides, and very little light from an unknown source. The air is damp and smells of mildew. Elrond is glad that his brother's arms are around him, for it is very cold. "Only until Mama comes," Elrond replies. "Mama will come and take us to safety, or Ada. Ada will come for us, Elros."  
  
"No, brother," Elros says, sorrow tingeing his voice as he lightly strokes the younger boy's cheek. "Mama is not going to come for us." He does not bother to mention their father, who had been gone for months on his quest to find the Valar. Elrond feels very alone all of the sudden, and a hot tear slides down his cheek. "Do not cry, Ellie." It has been many years since anyone called Elrond by that childhood nickname, but from Elros it comforts him. He holds back his tears and looks up at his brother, trying to put on a brave face.  
  
Suddenly there is a sound of metal jangling and of footsteps. Elros's head snaps up. He shoves Elrond from him, across the cell. Elrond tries to ask what is happening, but Elros hushes him. "You play like you are still unconscious, Ellie," Elros hisses. Too frightened to think to rebel, Elrond obeys. Moments later, he hears the sound of a key in a lock and of a door swinging open. Through his eyelids, he sees the room alight. There are scraping sounds he cannot identify, and the cell door clangs open.  
  
"The little brat still unconscious?" asks a gruff voice.  
  
"Yes," Elros replies.  
  
"No one asked you!" the gruff voice says, and Elrond hears footsteps pass him, and the sound of a slap. "Here. Take it." The footsteps come near him again, then pause. "Useless--" and the voice calls him something quite obscene. Elrond knows better than to protest, and keeps up the act as his brother asked him. When he feels a sharp kick to his back, however, he cannot help but cry out. "So you are awake!" exclaims the voice. "And as stupid as your brother, you are, to lie to me, boy!" The next thing Elrond is aware of is the feel of a leather strap biting into his back.  
  
"Stop it, don't hit him!" Elros cries, and at once is covering Elrond, shielding his twin with his own body. "He only did as I asked, do not punish him!"  
  
"Heh, very well, have it your way."  
  
Elrond's eyes are open now, and watering with tears. "Do not dare let them see you cry, Elrond, don't you dare," Elros hisses in his ear. Over his brother's voice Elrond is vaguely aware of the gruff voice shouting something, then Elros is pulled off him and he is pulled to his feet. Elrond's eyes are slipping closed again when he feels a sharp slap to his cheek.  
  
"Wake up, boy!" the gruff voice calls. Elrond slowly eases his eyes open. He cannot stand on his own, but is being held up by the men he cannot see. "That's right. Now, look at me." Elrond tries to rebel, but a hand beneath his chin forces him to meet the speaker's eyes, and the boy gasps. It is the one who discovered them back in Sirion! "You know me now. Perhaps you recall that my brother called me Meadhros? I am 'Master' to you. I own you. Now, I have some business with your brother."  
  
Elrond wonders where Elros is, and searches with his eyes to find him. The elder Elfling is against a wall, his palms pressed against the stone. His tunic lies rumpled on the ground, and Elrond can see welts on his back. As he watches, Meadhros raises a short leather strap and brings it down across Elros's shoulders. The Elfling does not even cry out. Elrond squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face away, but cruel hands force him to watch as his brother is hit again and again. He wants to cry, but hears Elros's voice in his head and does not. It is the least he can do.  
  
At long last Meadhros replaces the strap on his belt, and says, "Maybe this will teach you to obey." Then he turns and leaves. With Meadhros's henchmen no longer holding him, Elrond falls to the ground. Across the cell, Elros leans against the stone, his breath labored. Elrond gets to his feet, shaking hard, and crosses the cell to his brother.  
  
"Are you all right, Elros?" Elrond asks in a quiet voice.  
  
"Yes," Elros replies in a breathy, ragged utterance. "You need not worry for me, Elrond, I am all right. Just a moment. . ." He wheezes, and for many moments more remains against the wall. At long last he sits, his back oozing blood. Elrond sits beside him and falls against him, and Elros puts an arm around his brother's shoulders.  
  
"May I cry now?" Elrond asks.  
  
"Yes, Elrond. Now you may cry." *~ 


	4. 

Ah, well, I am terribly sorry about this mess. It's not been updated in a while, and may well not be. . .I might take this down and rewrite it, give it a decent edit, but for now I'm leaving it rest. It -will- be finished in time, and I do apologize again for the delay.  
  
Thanks for your understanding,  
  
~Copper 


End file.
